


In the Stillness of Remembering

by CCNSurvivor



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fixing Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Post P4, Romance, letting Marie be a person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor
Summary: Zelda is finally ready to demand answers. Yet there are some she is entirely unprepared for, because after everything, she had stopped believing that Marie actually existed.Set some time after E06 P4 and ignoring the finale of P4 for obvious reasons. Marie really is much too valuable a character to be wasted as a mere disguise. She deserves to have a full story of her own. This is my attempt at providing something like that.
Relationships: Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Zelda Spellman, Zarie - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	In the Stillness of Remembering

Darkness lay like a cloak over Spellman Mortuary, dense enough to invade even the furthest corners. Only here and there was it broken by the flickering light emanating from the fireplace, creating an ominous play of shadows that stretched threateningly from floor to ceiling.

Zelda Spellman had taken a seat in the large armchair directly in front of it, her back so rigidly pressed into the thick upholstery that her form appeared entirely hidden from sight. On the small coffee table before her were only three items. A decanter of Whiskey, a half empty glass, and a worn looking round box, the latter of which was at the main focus of her piercing gaze.

She could scarcely remember how often her thoughts had drifted towards it in months gone by, how many futile hours had been spent deliberating its contents. As though they’d bear any relevance on the events that had transpired. And at any rate, she had been too cowardly to probe further, lest the box reveal itself to be just another empty shell. Her hesitance had come at a price. Emptiness, a familiar friend, had stolen into the day to day routine of her existence. Quietly at first, chafing gently like an old wound that had never quite healed. Until somehow she found herself weeping over the kitchen sink or her book or a pesky bit of grading for no discernible reason other than the growing void in her heart. Letters collected in her mouth and swelled until they became questions and demands that would no longer remain tucked away underneath her tongue.

She reached forward and tipped the last of her drink down her throat, willing it to wash the words away. But it was futile, and so she returned the glass to the smooth surface of the table with an angry clank, and briefly shut her eyes against her own emotions.

“Baron Samedi.” Her throat grew tight and her hand trembled as she extended it towards the box. “I demand your attention.”

She shook it only once and then dispatched it back onto the table with similar firmness as before. For a little while it seemed as though nothing had changed and the stillness of the night remained unbroken. But there was motion to the silence, a steady, quiet build-up of something beyond words. An energy, a presence. Something which unfurled unseen and advanced subtly but with purpose. At the front door. In the parlour. Footsteps beating down on carpeted floorboards.

With eyes that were watering from staring intently into darkness, Zelda rose and turned to face the fireplace. Her breath emerged in laboured exhalations.

“ _Bonswa,_ High Priestess Zelda Spellman. You requested to see me.”

Her fingers curled together into a fist until she held all her anger in her palm.  
  
“I demanded, Baron Samedi. I would certainly not give you the courtesy of asking.”

“ _Ou pa respekte mwen_.”

She heard him step closer and automatically turned towards him. Caught in the sudden burst of light, her face looked sickly pale and tired, and her red hair furiously alight.

“You have gravely wronged me. And I have painstakingly come to learn that that hardly warrants respect, deity or not.”

Baron Samedi’s own face was mostly hidden behind the shadow the brim of his top hat cast, but in the depth of his dark eyes the same resignation lingered that had previously been present in his tone.

“Then how can I assist you, eh? If you say you have nothing to ask of me.”

A faint echo of Marie’s inflection lived in his voice also, and she found her heart clench at the memory.

“You will answer my questions, and there shall be no further debate,” she asserted and poured herself another glass of Whiskey before sitting back down in the armchair. Her index finger shook as she pointed it at him. “Why did you come here?”

“I am the Ioa of the spirit world, Zelda-“

“The keeper of the gates, I know. One of them.”

“There are seven gates-“

“None of which are of consequence here.”

“Well, that is debatable,” Baron Samedi intersected now, spreading his hands while he sat down opposite her. “All seven gates are closely linked to the plane of earth. And there were tremors. The spirits were restless. And those who lived but were doomed to die, would not. Yet innocence was wasted.” From somewhere inside his coat he produced a cigar which lit itself before it was placed between his lips. “The unrest, the threat to the entire spirit world that these Terrors – as you say – meant was palpable to us Ioa long before that _enbesil_ freed them. _Fout tonè_!”

He blew smoke out towards her, and entirely disregarded her scandalised expression. She could not say that she had understood the exact meaning of his exclamation, but it was uttered with such contempt that it could only be an insult, and a rather crude one at that.

“We could not ignore the disturbance,” he carried on. “The sense of _sa ki mal_ -“

“Don’t you think you have made use enough of that pretty little phrase?”

Bitterness drenched her words, strengthened only by the alcohol at her disposal.

“It is a description of the truth. There was something in the air that we could feel long before your Gods.”

“And so you decided to meddle in matters that otherwise do not concern you?”

A piercing memory befell her then which faded as quickly as it had come. The light, soothing touch of Marie’s hand on her arm. The look in her eye that communicated how easily she saw through her. Moisture caught in her lashes and was immediately and furiously blinked away.

“I am not a fool, so permit me to clarify. What I realise is that The Terrors had the potential to upset the entire fabric of the world, the planes, and that consequently you felt compelled to interfere. What I want to know, however, is why you chose to infiltrate _my_ coven.”

She levelled her gaze at him and watched as he brought his hands together at the fingertips. “My answer will not please you.”

“Oh, I believe we are beyond that, don’t you?”

His dark eyes were piercing somehow. “Yet I do not want to add to your suffering, Zelda Spellman.”

Her scoff of contempt did nothing to deter him, and his gaze remained trained on her. After a little while, he spoke again. “But I will honour your thirst for direct answers. Prudence and Ambrose came to New Orleans seeking knowledge. The bridge was built, and so I infiltrated your coven, because it was easy.”

He had been right, the truth still stung. Weakness often burned like shame.

“And you abandoned-“ for the briefest of moments her voice caught – “the coven presumably also when it was easiest, yes?”

He shifted forward in his seat, his face split neatly between shadow and light. “I left when the time had come. When I could no longer linger, no matter how comfortable I had become in the arms of your _fanmi_. Because the undead needed to be guided back to _Guinee_. And Mambo Michelle Marie LaFleur needed to return home.”

Something caught agonisingly inside her, as though the Ioa had reached deep into her chest and squeezed her heart between his hands. All of a sudden robbed of words, her throat ran dry. Perhaps, in the end, she thought, hope was the cruellest of emotions. The way it rose time and time again from the ruins of her grief to whisper enticingly. Even now when it hardly should matter. Because spirit or not, long gone or still alive, her Marie – she could not catch the endearment in time – had never truly existed.

“So you have plucked a soul from the underworld to use as a disguise? Must you use anybody who crosses your path?” Her indignation only flimsily veiled the ache beneath, and she could barely say with certainty what kind of answer she could bear to hear.

“She is not dead,” he whispered at long last, his voice unfurling lowly as he observed her.  
  
She could picture him then, bending over a body at the gates to _Guinee_ , breathing another rush of life into them. Offering those another chance whose time had not yet come. She could picture him so clearly, because she could almost breathe again herself.  
  
“Everything she told you is true. Her name, her standing in the _kominote_ of New Orleans, her memories.”

She lifted her hand up sharply and cut him off. The delicate diamond that adorned her ring shone brightly in the light of the fire.

“ _She_ told me nothing.”

“Oh, _men nan kou_.”

Realisation dawned on her but even so she shook her head. “You rode her. As a Mambo she must have given you permission to ride her.”

She remembered the body of text she had sunk into shortly after Marie’s arrival at the academy in an attempt to educate herself and to move beyond the ignorance that had made her so very wary. There were many descriptions about Mambos and Houngans, inviting Ioas into their bodies in ways that Catholics and Satanists may have called possession. Yet in Vodou Culture, these were seen as a great honour and Ioas were joyfully welcomed and served offerings of their favourite food or drink.

“Nonetheless, that does not mean she willingly shared those details. Nor does it justify this whole charade.”

Once more, Baron Samedi regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and careful consideration.

“She will remember you, Zelda. In time. She _does_ remember you.”

Perhaps he had frozen time around them, perhaps there was magic afoot. Because it seemed to her that she could hear the sluggish ticking of the grandfather clock behind her as though somebody had amplified the sound. Dragging itself from one second to the next. And above it, louder still, the pounding of her heart.

“I have all the answers I needed, so do consider yourself dismissed.” The words emerged thickly, her voice bruised with shame. Temptation all too sticky still on her tongue.

“Do you think me a liar?” he challenged, entirely unmoved by her cool anger.

“Most certainly. But in this case I know you are telling the truth. What would _you_ know of human emotions? You are ruthless and careless, like all the Gods before you. Mambo Marie was merely a puppet. Someone you toyed with, because it made your task on earth easier. Her memories may be in tact or perhaps they will emerge eventually. But that only makes me pity her role in all of this.” She bent forward and grasped the tattered box on the table once more. “It changes _nothing_.”

And as she shook it firmly with her right hand, Baron Samedi faded into the shadows. How much she wanted to hold on to that conviction. How much she wanted not to give in to the desperate longing that no longer lay dormant in her heart. But alone in the reaching, vast silence once more, she knew that her resolve was already faltering. That, in fact, everything had changed.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Bonswa - good evening  
> \- Ou pa respekte mwen - You don't respect me  
> \- enbesil - imbecile  
> \- Fout tonè - f***ing shit  
> \- fanmi - family  
> \- kominote - community  
> \- men nan kou - but of course
> 
> \- I'm aware Baron Samedi uses quite crude language and can be quite loud. But it felt too big a change to immediately implement after the version we got a brief glimpse of in canon. I'll still try my best to make it as true to the descriptions as possible.  
> \- if any of the Haitian Creole is wrong, please let me know. I'll happily correct it.


End file.
